Times Eternity
by fiesa
Summary: As the queen, she is given tons of advice. OneShot- Tara, Ronin. (A selection.)


**Times Eternity**

 _Summary: As the queen, she is given tons of advice. OneShot- Tara, Ronin. (A selection.)_

 _Warning: -_

 _Set: pre-movie_

 _Disclaimer: Standards apply._

 _A/N: Re-watched the movie._

* * *

 **1\. Love it, child. Love the forest, and it will love you back.**

She is chosen on a beautiful day, sunny and blue and magical.

The old queen is beautiful, even if her hair is silver and her features are lined and her limbs thin and fragile. She always was beautiful, in a cool, distanced fashion. Regal, royal – a queen in everything, up to her appearance. Her face breaks into a smile – it is the first time she sees her smile, will forever remain the only time – when she holds the pod out to the thin, gangly girl with her dark skin and her curly hair who watches the golden light surrounding her and is utterly, completely terrified.

Tara never expected to be chosen.

She is not beautiful, she is not regal and she certainly is not much like her predecessor. She loves the forest: running wild, dancing through the leaves. Whirling past trees and flowers on a hummingbird, watching the buds break into bloom in spring. Counting the primroses' petals on a summer afternoon, listening to the croaking concert of frogs at full moon. The forest is her home, her love, her heart; she would gladly lay down her life for it and its inhabitants. But she is not _a queen._ How can it be, how can it be her, if she is so little like what everyone needs her to be?

 _And_ , whispers a tiny voice in the back of her head, _do you really love the forest more than anything else?_

Ronin always knows where she is, even if she hides from him.

So she does not even try. He finds her at her favorite spot, sitting on a branch, her legs dangling. The wood is warm from the midday sun and its scent fills her nostrils; the bark under her hands feels alive with possibilities. She cannot say how long she has been sitting there, staring at nothing in particular, her heart echoing with the sound of her terror. _Long live the Queen!_ It is a joke, a stupid one, it must be.

A dream. She will wake up any minute now.

"Tara."

His voice is soft, it only ever is with her, and she hates that particular sound in his voice. He is feeling sorry for her, and she will be damned if she lets him. She throws her head back and laughs.

"So the vice commander is coming to pick up the wayward next queen?"

He was named vice commander last season; she remembers her heart stuttering in her chest at the sight of him standing there. Tall, handsome – when has her best friend since childhood stopped being Ronin and become _the vice commander_ instead? At her piercing tone, he falters, and she regrets instantly.

"It is dangerous for you to be out here all by yourself."

Belay that. She regrets nothing.

"I am perfectly capable of moving around by myself. I grew up in this forest. Of all, _you_ should know."

His face is unreadable. "Things change. You are the queen now. Your life is the forest's life."

It makes her laugh, because otherwise, she would choke on her tears.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Take me back."

He looks like he expects her to fight harder, like he is surprised she gave in already. But Tara is tired. Here is her best friend in the whole wide world, the one person she trusts more than anything, and he looks at her as if she is someone else.

Ronin accompanies her to her rooms, the new ones, full of light and beauty and _emptiness_ , and bows when he takes his leave.

And Tara just feels cold.

* * *

 **2\. You need to be more subtle, Your Majesty.**

The Boggins choose a new leader; or perhaps the new leader chooses himself. She is not sure what to call it; the barbaric rituals of her peoples' arch enemies are nothing she cares to dissect in every single of it gruesome details. Mandrake is a Boggin like all of his people and Tara laughs at the irony that he comes to power the same season she does. But then, there is nothing like coincidence when it comes to upholding the balance of life in her forest.

There is only fate.

It is calm for three seasons, until it is not anymore.

"Send the troops," her general urges her. "We can take them."

"With all due respect, General," the vice commander counters. "The snow melt has flooded the frontier lands. Mandrake has been expanding his territory for the past season and is recruiting swamp inhabitants. If we attack straight-forwardly, we will suffer severe losses."

The old general throws his subordinate a sharp glance. "We discussed this. There is no honor in underhanded tactics."

The vice commander bows his head dutifully, but his eyes are blazing. "Yes, Sir." And despite the fact that he still is not talking to her, despite the fact that Tara hates the silence and coldness between them, despite her poor, battered heart – despite everything, she looks at him and smiles. If it comes out a bit crooked, she prays none of her advisors realizes.

"What do you think, Vice Commander?"

Ronin blinks, once, the only outward sign that he is surprised. He glances at his superior, who is taking a breath to explain.

Tara makes a snap decision and takes a stand. "I want to hear the vice commander's opinion, General."

The general makes an impatient noise. "Mylady-"

The Queen lifts her hand and he quiets immediately. It makes her marvel at that power: how is it that she can silence others so easily just because she is the queen?

"Do not make me repeat myself."

The general lowers his head, now clearly bristling with rage. "Yes, Mylady."

Only when he steps down from his position a season later – after they have, using Ronin's carefully strategized and executed battle plans, redrawn and strengthened the borders between her forest and Mandrake's wastes – Tara realizes how grave the error she made actually is. Ronin kneels before her, never once looking at her while he pledges his loyalty to her again and accepts the title of General of the Leaf Men, and something in her –

Something just breaks.

* * *

 **3\. Hearts are fragile things.**

Sometimes, she still dreams.

Of them, mostly, of herself and of Ronin and of the way he was before everything changed. Before Tara became the next queen. She dreams about the humorous, enthusiastic boy she grew up with, so full of energy, always dreaming of another adventure. She can still see it, clearly: the mischievous smiles they exchanged when they pranked her short-sighted aunt; the adventures they went on, be it the one where they actually made it to the Bogginses' borders or the ones they imagined on rainy days, holed up inside. She still remembers the nights at the lake, warm wind and softly whispering trees, and the way he looked at her that made her feel like the most beautiful person on earth.

Memories, nothing more.

Ah. Speaking of memories. There are some things she inherited from her predecessor, but she is somewhat sure the former queen did not just find the caterpillar but inherited the spy master and archivar, as well. Nim is a funny guy, and perhaps not the sharpest arrow in the box. But he is undeniably witty, has a keen sense of humor and a vast, vast experience. It might not originate from the Scrolls of Knowledge surrounding him – he always forgets to read the new ones – but rather from his various lifetimes; and that, to her, counts almost more than taught or self-taught wisdom.

"Are you unhappy, Tara, love?"

She sighs, feeling defeated in one match only.

"Of course not."

Nim scoots over to sit down next to her, his gaze fixed on the horizon of dark silhouettes against the even darker night.

"It is just that you love Ronin."

Tara lowers her head. "Is it that easy to see?"

Nim smiles. "I read it in a scroll yesterday. I thought I was catching up, but it seems it was one of the older ones. Not that it seems to have changed anything." He leans back on one pair of hands and blinks into the night. Below them, one of his typical parties is in full swing, but the sound does not reach them. "He loves you too, you know."

Tara sighs, wearily. "Something you read, too?"

"Ha. No." The centipede closes his eyes. "Everyone can see it. He looks at you."

"He does not. He has not looked at me for seasons, now. I really should stop pining for him."

"Of course, many times people cannot see what is straight in front of them."

Tara huffs in disbelief. "I think you are misinterpreting, Nim."

The smile she receives carries something she cannot place. "You are the queen, Tara, and you read the forest's heart easily. But you cannot read Ronin's heart. I think I know why."

As much as she nags, he never tells her the reason. She thinks she discovered it, seasons later, but she never is sure.

And she must know: she watches Ronin, day after day. He does not look at her.

* * *

 **4\. Traditions should not remain traditions just for the sake of it.**

It is impossible to ignore him completely.

Ronin is, after all, the commander of the Leaf Men, her closest ally and designated protector. It is, in effect, quite similar to the relationship they had when they were still children – only now she is not allowed to protect herself, anymore. Not in the way she wants to.

"Have you considered our proposal, Your Majesty?"

He looks older with the white cloak over his shoulders. The smile she loved so much in the past has disappeared completely: it is like he completely left behind the boy she first fell in love with, so many years ago, and Tara wants to weep.

"The whole point of the spring ceremony is to have it on Equinox."

"So it is tradition. Everyone knows. Mandrake knows, too, you are aware of that? It is a public risk."

"I am not stupid, General."

Tara thinks he might look like he wants to card both his hands through his hair in exasperation. In return, she wants to glare at him and shout instead of using that horrible, formal voice of hers she has come to detest so much. But they are both too far gone from the people they once were.

"The day will not be changed, and that is final. I trust your Leaf Men will protect the civilians."

She really, really ought to have learned from the past. As it is, Tara needs to make every mistake once in order to learn from it.

Due to their plans and Ronin's hard-headed stubbornness, no civilian is hurt when the Boggins attack the spring parade. The Leaf Men mostly suffer minor injuries only, but many civilians suffer from shock. The Queen uses her power to push back the enemy, one by one: roots shoot from the ground to catch the Boggins and throw them back, ferns catapult them out of her forest. Even some birds join her forces, angrily screeching their battle cries towards the sky. Unwilling to let her people do the whole work she throws herself head-first into the battle, bats away Boggins, ravens and swamp inhabitants. While she sprints across the pond on the water lilies' leaves, a toad wraps its tongue around her ankle. Tara stumbles and goes down, cursing, and immediately, a whole host of toads surround her leaf. It starts swaying dangerously as her pursuers try to climb it in order to get to her, and –

"Tara!"

She is so surprised she freezes.

Ronin crashes into her from behind, his weight pushing her down, and _she cannot think_. Her name – it is the first time he called her by her name instead of her title since she was chosen, some ten seasons ago. His weight pushes her down, pain in her side catapulting her back to reality, so she worms out from under him. He hisses at her but she cannot stay, cannot hide, she scrambles onto her feet and takes in their surroundings. A small battalion of Leaf Men is driving away the toads, she can breathe freely for a second. Her next glance is at Ronin, on the ground, face-first. His hands are so tense they resemble claws, and she knows even before she sees the arrow protruding from his back that something has happened.

The world is shrouded in red. Mandrake's scream of rage as his brother is crushed by a descending root is drowned by the rush of blood in Tara's ears, and the forest comes alive.

* * *

 **5\. You need to rest.**

Tara finally surrenders and sneaks into the Rooms of Healing at midnight, three days after the battle.

She does not want to see him.

She wants to see him so badly.

She should have gone during the day. But she would have been accompanied by her two guards and all the healers, nurses and patients would have seen, and as much as she longs to check on Ronin there are some things she just _cannot._ He has tried to separate himself from her so desperately, after all.

It still hurts, but so what? He is _alive._

The room is dark, it is a cloudy night. The open windows let in warm, humid summer air. Tara lifts her firefly lantern and looks at the Leaf Man on the bed. Ronin is pale and drawn, drained after the rot fever his injury developed. His eyes move restlessly behind his eye lids. Sinking onto the stool next to his bed, she watches for any sight of disturbance in his sleep and is both relieved and disappointed that he does not wake.

His hand is clenched into a fist.

Tara carefully touches it, smoothes the tense fingers with hers, and a miracle occurs: Ronin relaxes, minutely. His fingers are warm and calloused, and familiar despite the seasons that passed. She remembers the day he got the scar on his wrist, a day when they were running from an angry blackbird and he got caught up in a thorny branch. There must be scars all over his body now and she knows the least of them. It is just one of the few things she regrets, one of the many things that show her how much has changed. Not just between the two of them, but – well. Ronin is asleep, his eyes moving behind his eye lids, his hand is warm and she cannot bring herself to let go, as much as she tries. So she just sits there, at Ronin's side – only it is not Ronin but the General and she is not Tara any more but the Queen – and watches his chest rise and fall. Her whisper falls into the darkness like a stone into calm waters.

"I cannot lose you. I will give up on you, but please – do not leave me like this."

Only silence answers.

In the morning, a nurse finds her; she must have fallen asleep sometime during the night. Her chest is halfway on the bed, her head pillowed on her numb arms. Tara blinks at the concerned flower djinn bleary-eyed and then scrambles upright, trying not to faint at the sudden dizziness, as the elder lady fusses over her and her dress.

"It is alright," she says, still pulling herself together. "Please do not tell him I was there."

In the door, she turns around and instantly wishes she had not done it: from the bed, heavy-lidded and tired, but definitely _awake_ , Ronin is watching.

Tara turns and flees.

* * *

 **6\. Discretion is the better part of valor.**

It is her fate, just like it is the forest's fate to flourish, wither and die, to face Mandrake and his Boggins again and again. And yet there are months, even seasons, when there are no news from the far side of the forest; when the scouts bring nothing but a diffuse sense of wariness with their return.

Tara enjoys the months of peace, the sunny days full of her people's laughter.

But she also knows that there is seldom something like eternal peace. So, as much as she hates it, she cannot ever relax completely. Leaf Men and Boggins fighting is the course of nature, a thing as natural as spring being followed by summer. It has been that way for decades, even centuries. Tara, with her experience of only a hand full of seasons, nevertheless already has one lesson ingrained into her being: complacency is the first grave error on a scale of many more; and a peaceful winter should never be expected to be followed by an equally peaceful spring.

If she could only make the Elders understand.

"This is not something that has been done before."

Of course it has not, otherwise she would not be struggling to gain their acceptance, after all.

"I understand your concerns, but…"

Empty words, empty phrases, again and again, and she wonders whether her dislike of them will ever make her choke and die, just like that. Just like the old queen decided to die, silently and alone, three days after the bud chose Tara. As if she had waited for it to happen, had prepared everything, as if the bud's choice and the destruction of all of Tara's dreams had merely been a side effect of something far more important.

The discussion continues. Tara falls back into her chair and wills herself to remain calm.

"I think Her Majesty is right," someone says, and it takes her precious seconds to locate the source because she cannot believe the person she knows spoke the words actually _spoke_ those words. The councilmen stare as much as she does, but she is younger and quicker to catch on.

And because Ronin, wonderful, stupid, idiot Ronin, might not have a sweet tongue but a lot of experience and a superb strategical mind, instead, it goes uphill from here.

(It feels like a hollow victory.)

At the end of the meeting Tara is so tired she barely manages to nod at the Elders before she mutters something about other responsibilities and makes for the exit. Nobody stops her.

Ronin waits in front of her rooms, instead. Tara stops, too numb to feel anything.

"General."

"You made the right decision, Your Majesty."

She is tired. She is sad. She is… hollow, perhaps, because she knows that in a war, people die on both sides. She thinks of all the mothers and fathers, wives and husbands, sons and daughters who never saw their loved ones return, all those who will lose somebody in the future. It would kill her, except she thinks that would be a fate far too easy for her. Ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times she regrets, will forever, and she still will choose what is best for the forest and for the people over and over again.

She does not deserve praise.

Still, it is… It is _good_ to hear these words, good to hear some tiny encouragement. Even better coming from Ronin. Despite what he feels, to her, he will always be her best friend, her protector and her greatest strength. He might not talk to her aside from official interaction, but… He still cares about her. She cannot help her own smile, even though it comes out crooked.

"Thank you."

Ronin just looks at her, dark eyes and brown hair and broad shoulders, and Tara stares back, her longing for him growing every second.

She lifts her chin. "Is there anything else?" _General,_ is on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it.

"You must be tired. Please rest," he says. And adds her title softly, almost like an afterthought. " _Mylady_."

She can still hear his voice when he has long left.

* * *

 **7\. Today's memory and dream.**

Tara sneaks out of the palace one day, determined to not get caught.

She gets as far as the Summer Lake when Ronin drops down from the sky in front of her, his hummingbird's wings whirring madly, and throws her a murderous glance.

"What are you trying to do, Your Majesty?"

It is a beautiful day. Summer is in full bloom, the songs of the birds in the trees around her fills her ears and her head and she feels drunk on the scents that surround her. Elderflowers, especially, but also primroses and lilies and marguerites. Wild strawberries – she will have to taste them, later, their smell is sweet and alluring. And above all lays the song of forest and sky, fresh and clear.

"Shush, General, I have an errand to run. Off you go, find some Leaf Men to train."

"You cannot leave the palace without a guard-"

"Watch me."

The primrose next to her extends a branch, her thorns carefully facing away from her, and Tara grasps it, lets it catapult her into the air and lands in a considerable distance from her annoying first general. Quite elegantly, if she may say so herself. Tara snickers to herself – it is summer, she is allowed a certain streak of madness this time of the year – and does not wait for his reaction.

The ferns unfold in front of her. It is like running on clouds, and she revels in it –

"Your Majesty!"

There he is again, this time flying at her side, still glowering.

"This is not the time for silly walks in the forest!"

"I am not undertaking a _silly walk_ , as you call it," she answers, without stopping in her stride. "I have business to attend to. If you will please excuse me. And _yes_ , that _is_ sarcasm."

He does not leave. Of course not.

"Where are you going?"

"That is none of your concern."

"It is, because-"

She stops listening to him. Leaps across a tiny stream, a root rises and lifts her, a late-blooming fire lily opens up at her passing touch. Ronin's hummingbird whistles and dives for the sweet nectar. Tara laughs, high and clear, happiness surging once again, as her general veers off course, cursing.

Of course she does not get far.

When he catches up again with her his bird is thrilling softly, not at all rebuked by his scolding, and Ronin has given up, apparently, because he extends a hand.

"At least let me accompany you."

"I knew you would see reason," she laughs; a leap, a sharp tug and she is sitting behind him, and the exultation of _flying_ takes over.

Her new-born niece is beautiful, tiny fists and fingers and clenched eyes. Tara holds her and coos her name, _Butterfly_ , and marvels at the miracle she is. Ronin's sight makes her laugh, her stout, strong general, so out-of-place in her sister's bedroom, all stiff and wary from the dangerous task of watching a woman give birth.

"Come on, you will not drop her!"

He shakes his head vigorously so she steps towards him, holding the tiny baby. His arms come up automatically, curve around it, strong and secure. And the amazement on his face when he looks down at the bundle in his arms goes straight to Tara's heart. She freezes, completely, her heart stutters and starts again, triple-paced, and she thinks she never –

"Take her back."

Ronin relinquishes the baby to her almost hastily and Tara takes it, silently, and goes to sit at Kiara's bedside. She spends the day in her sister's home, chatting with her, cleaning up and cooking a warm meal, and all the while Ronin is a silent shadow in the background, never once taking his eyes off her.

Leaving is harder than she anticipated. She hugs and kisses Butterfly, marveling at her one last time. Behind her, Ronin bids farewell to Kiara, Tara hears her sister laugh and then her voice suddenly softens, becomes intense, but she cannot hear what they are talking about. She pretends not to have noticed anything. Kiara's hug is warm, strong and comforting – oh, Tara has missed her elder sister so _much_ – and there is worry in her eyes, as usual.

"Take care, little sister queen."

Tara laughs. "Do I not always?"

The flight back is silent until Tara cannot stand it anymore.

"Is she not adorable?"

She does not expect Ronin to answer, just continues chattering, filling the black hole of silence between them with words. And it works, somehow, even if Ronin barely replies.

"Oh, and who would have thought that General Ronin, who is afraid of nobody and nothing, would be afraid of a baby flower djinn?"

That makes him react, he stiffens indignantly. "I am not afraid of a baby!"

His reaction thrills her, the discrepancy between Ronin The General she sees every day and Ronin The Man she has observed today making her careless.

"You did look awfully intimidated earlier…"

"I am used to holding a sword. A baby is something entirely different."

From any other man it might have sounded defensive, he just states the fact.

"A baby," Tara croons. "Those dangerous little fingers that cling to everything and put it in their mouths, that murderous mouth that screams and screams and scre- Aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Ronin's bird, as commanded by its rider, takes a sudden up-dive and spins into a looping, Tara, surprised, cannot contain her scream. She clings to Ronin, yelping.

"You stupid savage! Are you _trying_ to kill me!"

"What?" He challenges her. "This is nothing! We used to do this every day, remember?"

With breathtaking speed, his bird dives through the foliage, up again, down, Tara clings to Ronin and feels the exhilarating speed tear the words from her lips.

"At that time, I was prepared for it!"

And suddenly, they are children again, diving through the underbrush at breathtaking speed, and Tara clings to Ronin, laughing joyfully.

"Show her what you got!" Ronin urges his bird, laughing, too, smiling so widely, beautifully, and the world blurs past them in a mix of scent, color and sound.

And then the palace comes into view and the guards standing at the landing platform become visible, and a tremor runs through Ronin. Tara can feel it. It is like something falls off him, or he takes something else on. But quite suddenly her Ronin is gone and the General is back, as if he never had been gone in the first place. He reins in his bird, whispering softly, they slow down, the wild chase turns into a tame ride and Tara's breath hitches at the sudden sensation of _loss_.

They land among the guards who rush to help her unmount. Tara slips down before they can reach her and waits until her general has unmounted. A soldier takes his bird and the others return to their places, and Tara looks up, trying to find any trace of her Ronin in the dark eyes of the man standing before her.

There is nothing left.

"Please let me know the next time you have an errand to run, Your Majesty."

"I will, General."

 _I will really, really_ not.

This is a role she has been playing for so long that she sometimes cannot say what is her role is and what is her heart, and the realization is staggering. So she smiles, graciously, and extends her hand for him to kiss. And the sight of him, bowing, feeling the soft rush of air of his exhalation, is excruciating in the bitter mixture of spite and remorse.

And longing.

* * *

 **8\. War is a game played with human souls.**

For once, it is not her general who berates her but her entire council.

And Tara is so far past caring that she has neither the time nor the patience to put up something even remotely like a polite mask.

"My decision is final, Honorable Elders."

They shout, and they nag, they coax and they threaten and try to talk reason. And Tara is tired of it, so tired. This is the moment they all knew would come, this is the time they have been preparing for since what feels like eternity. It is just another test in the long history of tests of her reign, but once again, this test is played out using lives – the lives of _her people_ , of Leaf Men – and she will be damned if she just sits in her pretty palace with its pretty corridors and pretty gardens and _waits._

It is Mandrake.

It is Mandrake, _again_ , it will forever be Mandrake who threatens her forest and her people, Mandrake who forces her to think of strategies that will cost lives. Mandrake, her arch enemy, the being that rose to power the same season she did – Mandrake, who she sometimes thinks of as her dark half, her corrupted twin. Every evil part of her, every dark thought. It is wrong to think of him as absolute evil, though. Mandrake and his Boggins, just like Tara and her forest-dwelling subjects, just want to live. They want to get up every morning and see the sun rise, and talk to those beings precious to them, want to laugh and live and see the next day. It is the greatest paradox that exists that two groups of beings that are so different from each other live in such close proximity, where everything they wish for and stand for and fight for is the antithesis to what the other dreams of and wants and needs. And yet there is no way to separate them. It is the tragedy of fate, maybe, or nature, or whatever: Tara's people cannot live without Mandrake's people, but they also cannot live with them, and it is exactly the same the other way round.

Sometimes Tara wonders who was her predecessor's Mandrake, and whether her successor will continue the fight.

 _Not if I can help it._

The rows and rows upon Leaf Men stand still, unmoving, as she passes them. Her own armor – fitted to her especially, lacquered with layers upon layers of resin and polished until it gleams – feels _comfortable_ , and it makes her sick. Tara needs no sword or bow to protect herself, but her soldiers all carry arms. And they look at her in awe, as if she was _special_ , as if she alone could save them from Mandrake's army of Boggins they are marching out to meet. They look at her as if she _can protect_ _them_. And if she was not already resolved to do what she has planned on doing when news of Mandrake's troop movement first reached their ear, then she would decide the same again, right now.

 _I am going with you._

Ronin did not say anything, neither to force her to stay nor to approve of her decision to go. Tara is glad.

There is no intermission.

One moment they are marching towards Mandrake's troops, and the next they are in the middle of the fight, there is no break, no point of transition. Boggins keep swarming towards them, a number that seems infinite, and for each one that falls another one steps into the gap. And, on Tara's side, Leaf Men fall, soldiers, guards, archers and swordfighters alike. Some die silently and some screaming, some are hurt so badly they will not survive, some are lucky, and nobody will ever be the same, not her, not her men. A soldier's death causes Ronin to shout, wordlessly, in the aftermath of that one man's death a large number of Boggins that were imprudent enough to challenge the forest's strongest leave their lives, too, but there is no relief, no absolution.

She is distracted just for the fraction of a second.

But it is enough, it always is (it never is), Ronin is a whirling mass of death in the midst of a clump of Boggins over to her left, her soldiers are holding the line, just so, and she can feel the Boggins' resolve weakening at the never-ending barrage of pine cones the squirrels drop from the trees with unerring, lethal accuracy, from the roots that rise and cause mayhem, from the bees that attack in a huge cloud of angry buzzing and needle-like stingers. The whole forest fights, eager to come to her aid, and, for one heartbeat, Tara is _distracted_. Mandrake's arrow shoots at her with the speed of age-old resentment, hatred and antagonism, and Tara closes her eyes.

The arrow never meets her.

Her eyes fly open at the sound of the impact, but the pain never comes. Instead, something else comes, rips through her with the force of a hurricane, and, once again, something in Tara shatters.

When Ronin finally has surveyed the battle field, when he and his fellow commanders have checked that the Boggins have retreated, when he finally makes his way through the still, impenetrable ring of soldiers surrounding the Queen who has saved them, he finds not the queen but something else. In Tara's arm, the limp body of her youngest guard feels lanky and gangly, still a child, she can remember his first day, his clumsy bow, the mischief in his eyes. Unveiled adoration, too, and his pride to be called to serve on her personal guard – the oath, the promise he took so, so serious that he indeed died for her. There is no breath left in him, his eyes are empty – this is not Sohee anymore but an empty shell. Yet Tara holds on to him for what feels like eternity, too numb to care, too frozen to move, just swaying like a lost leaf in the wind. Outside, on the other side of her silent wall of soldiers, life continues, but in here it has stopped, unmoving. Sohee is dead, her sweet, young, uncomplicated guard, and it is her fault, always and forever will be. Of course she knows he is not the only one who died today. But that is the cruelty of war, too.

"Your Majesty."

Someone is calling her but she ignores the voice, ignores her title, ignores – for a precious, guilty second – all the responsibility and blame and guilt it puts onto her. _Just for now, please –_

But then someone calls her _name_ , and she cannot ignore _that._

 _Ronin._

He takes Sohee from her arms, carefully – she does not resist, too tired, too full of grief – and her poor, young guardian is carried off, to be left for the winds and the earth and the forest. And then he lifts her up – she does not even struggle, it is unbecoming for the queen to be carried like this but she does not care – and takes her to his hummingbird, with long, sure strides, while walking he gives out orders to his soldiers, retreat, secure, surveil – and then they are in the air, the wings of his bird fluttering so quickly she cannot follow them.

Tara closes her eyes and buries her face in Ronin's chest, and is glad for the hard material of his armor that does not carry his warmth. She does not want comfort.

He takes her to the palace, and straight to her chambers.

There is a commotion on the way, she imagines there are soldiers who ask for updates and her steward who immediately gives orders and the flower djinn who is her personal aide who protests violently, and Ronin waves all of them away or answers questions or gives advice with that voice that is a gentle rumble in his chest, soft and so unlike his usual growl. He does not let go of her until they are in her chambers and any other day she would have blushed furiously at the thought of having him standing in this place that feels so intensely private to her, but nothing of it matters, nothing. It does not matter that he kneels down to pull off her boots and takes off her stained cloak and that he touches her hair when he unfastens her armor. It does not matter that he talks to her, the entire time, that his voice is a soft murmur that actually manages to relaxe some of her tense, taut muscles, it does not matter because she cannot feel anything, anyway, and she never wants to feel anything ever again.

He pulls the blanket over her carefully and leaves, and in the door his steps hesitate and he looks back at her, his eyes dark and full of concern, but it does not matter.

Nothing does.

Nothing matters, until the next morning her maid comes in and fusses over her, quietly but insistently. And Tara finally, finally and cruelly, is torn from her stupor, the sun is bright up in the sky and the palace is abuzz with tales of their – _her_ – victory, and she has never felt less like a victor than now.

"Are you sure, Mylady Queen?" Her aide asks her, her young eyes suspiciously red-rimmed, and Tara wonders whom she is crying for. Did she have someone she loved among the dead? Perhaps she even was in love with Sohee? She does not ask.

"I am," she says, quietly.

She needs to. She has to. Life goes on. The forest withers and falls asleep in winter, and awakens again in spring, and flowers die and others bloom and it is the circle of nature, nothing more and nothing less. This battle with Mandrake has pushed back the swamp but he will be back, and more of her people will die. And others will come. It is not a comforting thought, not by any measure, and she hates the fact that it makes Sohee's sacrifice and all the other deaths so seemingly insignificant. But she is the queen. She is the Queen of the Forest, and she has to move forward. So she does.

Ronin stands at the doors to the largest hall, where the ceremony of farewell will be held.

Inside, Tara can already hear the people, milling around. Her steps falter. Ronin sees her, and his posture straightens. The guard on the other side stands to attention as she approaches. She wants to pass them, as usual, with a smile and a nod, but something is different, this time.

When she passes, Ronin falls in with her, just half a step behind her.

And even if that is not something that never occurred before, what he does next is: he lifts his arm, angles it, and presents her with it; a gentleman's perfect posture. And without a second thought she places the tips of her fingers on his arm; she can feel the warmth of him and his distance and his closeness. His eyes are on her. Tara does not look up, but she lets him escort her in.

Just the tips of her fingers, nothing more.

* * *

 **9\. There is a time for everything.**

Life goes on.

Summer changes to autumn changes to winter changes to spring, and the forest withers and dies and comes back to life. Tara watches, with a heart made up of a thousand broken pieces, as her people go on with their lives.

It is the way it is supposed to be, no matter how much it hurts.

She visits her sister and her baby niece, and she takes Sohee's replacement with her, an equally young Leaf Man who is incredibly shy and overly correct and stuck-up, who makes her feel like an elder sister for once in her life and whom she loves just on principle. She celebrates Beltane, watches the swans rise over the lake in a timeless display of beauty, and feels her people's awe, hope and sadness as they watch the souls of their beloved drift towards the skies. She makes a point of inviting children to the palace every second moon cycle, because she loves watching them. She attends parades and diplomatic dinners.

Ronin adopts Nod, the son of his friend, the soldier who died in the battle.

Tara never saw something funnier and more heartbreaking than her stubborn, headstrong general trying to get along with the stubborn, headstrong child. Oh, they are strangely similar indeed and she would laugh if not for the desperation that shines out of Ronin's eyes despite his usual, expressionless face. He wants the boy to like him, she thinks, he cares for him, he really, really does, but he does not know how to show it.

Autumn returns, a season full of red-and-gold leaves, fresh fruits and nuts and work, and the heavy scent of falling rain. Life goes on, and Tara thinks that nothing ever will be perfect, not by far. But maybe, maybe, she can hold on to this kind of contentment, the feeling she has when she watches her flowers grow and her people live and thrive.

And then, Ronin comes to her.

She never expected it to happen, never even dreamed of it. She had thought that she had long ago accepted the fact that he did not see her as herself any longer but as his queen only, and the pain has withered away to a dull ache that sometimes, out of the blue, flares up and makes her crumble with agony but that generally has retreated to the back of her heart. When he comes to see her in her garden she expects him to talk about something or other, strategy, planning, soldiers.

"Mylady."

She is occupied, whispering to a little flower bud that is about to bloom but afraid to, coaxing it softly and only registering her general in the periphery of her vision.

Ronin waits, and that is what tips her off. Usually, her general has no qualms interrupting her conversations when it suits his schemes. His silence throws her off, makes her forget her next words and turn around, and she takes him in: his head bare, out-of-uniform, his dark-gold hair showing the first streaks of silver, and an expression on his face that is so foreign that she immediately makes a step towards him.

"Ronin?" Her hands fly to her lips at her faux-pas, she pretends it never happened. "General? Is there something wrong?"

"No." He shakes his head, a most peculiar expression flashing in his eyes. "Nothing is wrong. Please do not worry, Mylady. I just – it is just that-"

He sighs.

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

 _Ah_ , she thinks, smiling inwardly. "What did he do this time?"

For a second, Ronin is taken aback. "Who?"

Tara frowns. "Nod. You wanted to talk to me about Nod, did you not?"

"Nod? No – what – I wanted –"

At her bewildered gaze he stumbles, breaks off. Looks at her, just _looks,_ and Tara's heart slams against her rib cage so hard it hurts. She clutches her skirts, feeling the nails of her fingers bite into her palms. There is no way she should know but the knowledge is _there_ , suddenly, she can see it in the way his shoulders are rigid and tense and his eyes are soft and scared. She makes a step forward but stops again, suddenly terrified, she is misinterpreting, is she not, there is no reason why he should – now – after such a long time. _No._ Her imagination ran ahead of her, there is no way he is telling her he –

Ronin shakes his head, looks at his hands that are knotted into fists.

He looks like he is fighting himself, like he wants to be anywhere but there, and Tara waits, with bated breath, terrified. _He is leaving me._ The thought is so painful she cannot swallow. And then he breathes in, exhales, and crosses the distance between them, drops to his knees in front of her and looks up, and the only thing she can see in his eyes is honesty.

"I have thought about this for a long time. I know I should not say anything, but I cannot bear not telling you. You are the queen. We might have been childhood friends once but that was a long, long time ago. I know I have no claim on you, no reason to expect anything. It is so very selfish of me to burden you with my feelings, but will you listen, nevertheless?"

She manages a nod; her heart feels like it has turned to stone.

"I love you. I have for a long time now, and gods help me I never wanted it to get in between us, but I cannot go on like this anymore. If you do not want to have me around anymore I will resign and find a suitable replacement, I swear. And you do not have to say anything, either."

Now, finally, he bows his head.

"I am a soldier, not a diplomat. I say the things as I see them. And you are beautiful. You are strong, and sometimes weak, and both is fine. You care more for this forest and its inhabitants than anyone else. You cry with the forest and I hope to the gods that the day you die with the forest is far, far away. You are more important than anything to me. I love you. I have loved you until now and I will love you forever. And no matter whether you want me by your side or not: I will protect you until my last breath."

And that… That is Ronin's confession, just like that.

The truth, and nothing but the truth from her unshakable, stubborn, headstrong general. She has known him forever, since the day they met first at the waterfall, and he has always been at her side since then, has never once left her. Tara can still remember the time when she had a hopeless crush on him, the time when they were young and he was handsome and reckless and she was silly and unaware of her future. Since then, so much time has passed. And Tara feels… different. She is not the the girl that had the greatest crush on earth on her best friend; and she is also not the woman that had her heart broken over an endless, unrequited love. Hundreds of times, thousands of times, she has told herself to leave those personas behind; to protect herself, to move on. And again and again, she has fallen in love with him all over. Tara feels like her feelings for her oldest, closest friend have been with her for such a long time now that they should not change anymore, she accepted them, embraced them, made them a part of her a long time ago. A million times she has looked at Ronin and has thought, _forever,_ and it should not be a big deal anymore, it really should not.

But something is different now.

Maybe it is the light in her garden that is different than the light in the Council Chamber, the warm brilliance of sunlight instead of firefly lanterns. Maybe it is the sound, the soft whisper of growing plants instead of people discussing, or talking and laughing, the silence that surrounds them now. Maybe it is the look in his eyes, so unguarded, open. It feels like they are not in the forest anymore but in a remote corner of the universe, an island, a bubble; a place that changes everything and yet is unchanging. And Ronin just confessed his love to her, just told her _that he reciprocates her feelings_ , and everything is different and nothing changes.

He is still Ronin, and she is still Tara.

So she laughs – and feels her own tears, warm and salty – and cannot stop laughing, and the next thing she knows she is on her knees in front of him; his shoulders are broad and warm and real, her arms go around his neck and she clings to him and feels the erratic beat of his heart just next to hers; and his arms are around her, solid and familiar.

"Gods, I love you."

She whispers, at his ear, and his arms tighten even more as he breathes out as if in relief.

"And if you had bothered to check in with me some decades ago, you would have realized I have for a long time, too."

Her tears mingle with laughter, and despite of his arms around her, her heart soars, free, up towards the sky, to encompass the whole forest once again.

"Tara." He whispers her name, just barely, and she rears back and looks at him, her eyes blazing.

"Call me again."

There is a tiny, tiny twist at the corner of his mouth, not ironic enough to be a smirk, not large enough to be a smile, but heartbreakingly beautiful.

" _Tara_."

She kisses him, salt and earth and hope; feels his arms around her, in her hair, on her shoulder blades, feels their heartbeats stop and restart again, two lines of the same song.

And Tara cannot imagine anything in the entire world that she wants more than him.

* * *

The forest smiles.


End file.
